


i was there when you fell from the clouds

by ultraviolence



Series: something stronger than magic (past life/Master AU) [2]
Category: Fate/Apocrypha, Fate/Grand Order, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms, Fate/stay night - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Past Lives, Drama and Angst, M/M, Master AU, Possible Soulmates, Rivalry, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-08
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2019-03-15 12:19:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13613241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultraviolence/pseuds/ultraviolence
Summary: "He wondered if the other man dreams, too, but of him, a man with dark eyes and darker intention, his murderer. Sometimes, he caught himself wondering if things would go differently in one of those dreams, during one of those nights. Mostly, he wondered if he would let Karna get close enough to him to hurt him too."Part II: Arjuna accepted Karna's invitation to dinner, and an argument happened. OR, in which Arjuna and Karna are accomplished magi and archaeologists and potential Masters. AU.





	i was there when you fell from the clouds

**Author's Note:**

> I'm in a Børns phase so the title is shamelessly taken from American Money, the first line of the song. I _really_ do wonder what relic Freend used to summon Karna :/
> 
> And yes, this escalated _that_ quickly. No more humour for you, at least not in this chapter. Now onwards, enjoy!

In his dreams, their rivalry was fated, just like their meeting a week ago in the cramped tent that smells like things long past, sang by the gods before the dawning of the world, etched in the fabric of stars. In his dreams, he wasn’t a magi, nor an archaeologist—it was only his luck that this particular man chose, no, _pioneered_ the same specialisations as him, although he heard that Karna was also good with Gem Magic and Alchemy, among other things—he was a demigod, walking that fine line between myth and reality.

In his dreams, in _Arjuna’s_ dreams, he saw a man with eyes like the sun, saw the light went out from those eyes. In his dreams, he fired the damning shot. In his dreams—and he often was awake with his eyes wet with tears that come from somewhere too deep to be put into words—Arjuna was a killer. A murderer.

He saw the flash of it in his eyes today, tonight, as he dons his formal dress for the night. He’d managed to dodge Karna for a week straight, citing a fully packed schedule when the other man comes asking after the dinner promise he managed to pry from Arjuna’s closed fist, but he can’t dodge it any longer. He believes in karma, was taught about the importance of karma from past lives most of all, and a part of him—no, _all_ of him—believed that this was a leftover karma from a past life, that somehow…somehow, yes, it was fated, and the dreams were past life memories. Arjuna doesn’t want to believe it, but he does anyway.

He wondered what Karna would think if he told him exactly that. He wondered if the other man dreams, too, but of him, a man with dark eyes and darker intention, his murderer, moving through the realm of his unconsciousness like a dark butterfly, or an urban legend roaming the city after the sun sets. Sometimes, he caught himself wondering if things would go differently in one of those dreams, during one of those nights. 

Mostly, he wondered if he would let Karna get close enough to him to hurt him too.

Other times, Arjuna wondered what kind of flowers the other man would like, although he quickly erased the thought from his mind. Just the thought of entertaining it is ridiculous.

It is not a date, he tells himself, as he followed the waitress through the hallway—subdued voices all around them—they barely know each other. They glided through the hallway, barely seen, two points of natural light in the artificially-lit room, with nothing passing between them but the most perfunctory of nods and words. Arjuna wasn’t one of small talk.

When Arjuna got to his table—which offers a spectacular view of the Thames—he was surprised to find out that Karna was already there, sitting elegantly with one leg crossed over the other, black gloves piled neatly on the table before him, smoking a cigarette discreetly. He was clad in black and red with gold accents on his collar and cuffs, like the sun. Arjuna found himself clenching his hand into a fist unconsciously.

He was expecting to arrive early so as to gain an advantage over the other man, not to mention to review his game plan for the night. He really wasn’t expecting Karna to show up before him, although he really should have. He was about to clear his throat—although a part of him enjoyed the spectacle, and he cursed it very much—to announce his presence, but the older man spotted him first.

“Ah, you made it,” Karna said, offering Arjuna a small smile. He rose, in one graceful move, from his seat, offering the younger man his hand to shake. “Welcome.”

Arjuna was once more rendered speechless, although he wasn’t sure if it’s because of how perfectly arranged everything is—from the flowers and the bottle of wine on the table to the view from the window—how _elegant_ the other man is, (un)expectedly, or how cruelly familiar his brilliant blue eyes were. But his conscious mind quickly chalked it up to the fact that Karna has thrown him off guard, once more. This man is dangerous, Arjuna thought. He forced a smile in return—although it came out as more of a grimace—but didn’t take his hand, purposefully. 

“Of course I made it,” Arjuna said, his tone harsher than he intended, eliciting a glance from the waitress, which he fiercely ignored. He took his seat, hoping that his movements were as fluid as the other man’s. “It is not as if you did not provide the complete address of this place,” his own lips quirked up into a somewhat cruel smile, “I do hope this isn’t some cruel joke, professor. You must know my reputation by now to know that I do not deal well with jokes.”

Despite Arjuna’s expectations—for the man to be embarrassed, humiliated somewhat, especially for someone from such a low-regarded family of magi—Karna once more smiled slightly, and covertly withdraw his hand, sat himself back opposite him on his seat and stubbed his cigarette. “Forgive me for smoking,” he said, and then raised an eyebrow, “and no, this is no joke. I do want to get to know you better.”

“There are other ways to get to know a fellow mage better,” Arjuna retorted, not very pleasantly, reaching for the menu. Karna stopped him, and their hands almost met. He was about to say something—Arjuna, to his own contempt, could already predict what—but he stopped the other man, stubbornly carrying on with what he wanted to express. “A friendly duel, for example.”

“I have ordered for us,” Karna told him, bluntly, and Arjuna had to bit his lip to suppress a rude remark. He hated being forced to have dinner with this man, hated being forced to breathe the same air in the same room with him for too long, hated being forced to be _polite_ to him like they were colleagues, close friends, even, but, most of all, he hated that the other had _assumed_ to know him all that well to order the food for him. Arjuna felt like he wanted to leave there and then. “Are you suggesting that a friendly duel is preferable to a nice dinner?”

“A friendly duel is preferable to an _unfriendly_ dinner,” Arjuna pointed out, wryly, although he is completely aware that he was the one being needlessly hostile towards the other man. “And, for the record, I hated it when other people assumed they know me well enough to speak for me.”

“Ah,” Karna simply said, already dismissing the waitress with an elegant wave of his pale hand. “I won’t do it next time, then,” Arjuna could practically feel, vividly, the waves of anger rising in him as the words came out of Karna’s mouth, and he felt not only hot under the collar but also hot in the cheeks, opening his mouth to finally let out a rude remark, but Karna talked over him this time. “I do apologise. And I also apologised if this dinner felt in any way threatening to you,” he raised his hands in the universal gesture of harmlessness, “I meant you no harm, Arjuna. I merely want to get to know you better.”

Arjuna had so many things to say to the other man, so much wine he wanted to gulp right there and then, but his throat felt congested, heavy. He remembered the dreams, the vivid feeling he felt when he found Karna, a week ago, kneeling in front of the artefact he’d dug. Fated. They are fated. As if reading his mind, Karna poured him a glass of wine and put it in front of him. Arjuna sipped it, gratefully.

“Why?” he finally said, after the waitress returned—and left—with their appetizer. 

“Because,” a shrug, a lopsided half-smile. Eyes that walked the border between myth and reality. Arjuna didn’t know if he wanted to embrace him or to introduce his fist to Karna’s face and let it wreck that beautiful nose of his. Or if he wanted to cry, suddenly. _A murderer_. “It just felt like the right thing to do.”

“Do you…” he couldn’t find the right words, fumbled with it like pilgrims trying to find their holy land except that he’s too jaded, too tired, suddenly, to believe. Suddenly he envied Karna and his carelessness. Surely he mustn't be haunted by the dreams as Arjuna did. “Do you do this often?” he doesn’t know why his voice softened by a fraction. “Do things because it just ‘felt like the right thing to do’, I mean.”

“Don’t mock me,” Karna suddenly said, frowning slightly, but Arjuna knows he’s not really angry. The man he knows in his dreams never really were. “If I do something, it’s because I believe in it. Do you not do things because you believed in it, Arjuna?”

“I do,” Arjuna said, not really sure why he snapped at him. At this point, he wasn’t really sure of anything, and his appetizer remained largely untouched. “I’m here because I believe— I believe—“

Karna stared at him, waiting for him to finish his words, and suddenly Arjuna felt stupid. Karna could be gathering info about him. It’s not uncommon among magus to try to ingratiate themselves with another, just so they could find the right way to take them down, especially among rivals. The fact that Karna had seen his artefact was a marked weakness in itself. Add the fact that the older man might have deduced Arjuna’s true motive for the artefact, then he had put himself in unnecessary danger. Arjuna quickly cleared his throat and straightened himself up.

“Nothing,” he told the other, and he could feel Karna’s genuine disappointment. “Please forget about that. Let us talk about something else. Perhaps about your current research?”

“Yes,” Karna said, with a resigned note, and Arjuna could sense a withdrawal. With it, he felt victory, although it was something of a perverse sort of victory, and Arjuna couldn’t deny that a part of him _was_ disappointed. He had, after all, wondered if Karna dreamt what he dreamt, seen what he’d seen. “We can talk about that. What do you want to know?”

The night, after that, soon degenerated into talk about work and magic, although there was a moment or two where they paused and, fumbling with each other’s motives in the dark, it seems like Arjuna’s faith would find its holy land at last, and Karna sensed an opening, but Arjuna quickly steered the conversation back towards safe ground. His beliefs are none of the other man’s concern, and neither does his intention towards the relic. He was grateful that Karna didn’t bring it up. 

Throughout it all, Arjuna couldn’t help but wonder, wonder, wonder. A murderer. He murdered Karna. And he wondered if, if the other had an inkling about it, at all. It gets to the point where he had to excuse himself to the men’s room, to gather some of his lost composure.

There, he wondered what is wrong with him, and when he returns, he found out that Karna was still alive, waiting for him, in fact, eating his dessert in a graceful quiet that only he could manage, and, despite everything, Arjuna felt _grateful_. 

“Thank you,” Karna said, producing his cigarettes, after they were done and the food has been lifted off the table except for the wine. 

“For what?” Arjuna quickly responded, raising an eyebrow. After all, he could feel that he hadn’t been good company—he was sulky at best, brooding at worst. He thought that surely Karna had been expecting a livelier company.

“For coming,” Karna said, with another shrug and a slight pause. “And for everything. I know you think of me as a threat. But I assure you, I am nothing of the sort.”

Arjuna was taken aback. He wasn’t expecting such blatant honesty from the man whom he considers to be his rival. “Do you want to get to know me or my motivations for the relic I’ve dug up?”

He was surprised by his own straightforwardness, but the other man didn’t look the slightest bit bothered. He merely shifted slightly in his seat, sipping his wine calmly. “You. I do not care about the relic.”

“Really? Not every magus could say that.”

“I am not like them,” Karna merely stated, shrugging again, although his brilliant gaze was challenging. Arjuna suddenly found the label of the wine to be a very interesting view. “You could say that is why I’m with the Institute instead of the Association, like you.”

“You’re lying,” Arjuna said, biting the words out. “We’re all the same. You’re interested in the Holy Grail War, aren’t you?” he raised his gaze to meet the other, with his own challenge. The Holy Grail War was, needless to say, _the_ holy grail among their kind, unironically, much talked about and the subject of much debate, desire, and competition, and there is usually only one magi chosen by the Association to represent it, although ultimately the choice itself was made by the Grail. Arjuna thinks— _hopes_ —that his discovery of the relic would increase his chance of being chosen, despite the Clock Tower’s rampant discrimination—which brings up a curl of grimace to his lips—which is why he hoped to pass it as his doctorate thesis, and underplays its importance. It’s best to play it safe, especially since he’d survived for as long as he did in the Association.

Karna leans back on his seat, observing him, cigarette in one hand, taking a long drag. The sun, outside, has begun to set, highlighting the reds and golds of his overcoat and accents, throwing it into stark contrast with his black suit. He looked like a figure from a dream, or a myth, one who walks the thin line between myth and reality. His gaze pierced Arjuna. 

“Not in your relic,” he said, after a certain pause that means something—he has his own, it dawns to Arjuna, he has his own already—taking a long drag of his cigarette. “I don’t. But yes, I am interested in the Holy Grail War,” he tilted his head, “who doesn’t? You’re right.”

Arjuna couldn’t suppress a scoff. Karna might be a brilliant archaeologist and an equally formidable mage, perhaps the only one who could surpass him at that, but he was still a second-rate magi compared to him and his heritage. “You think the Grail would choose you,” _you think you’re worthy_ , he thought, although a part of him was fired-up, suddenly more than interested in Karna, although Arjuna was already interested in him in the first place. But now, it’s getting harder to conceal his interest in the other, and his disbelief—born of a deeply-held prejudice—bleeds into his voice. Karna, for the first time, narrows his eyes at him, taking another drag.

“The Grail chooses whoever it pleases,” Karna said, looking deep into his eyes. “Even ones you’ve already underestimated, Arjuna.”

“The Grail chooses capable mages,” Arjuna countered, “not magicians masquerading as magi.”

“Have you not learnt from the previous Holy Grail Wars?” there might have been a scoff from Karna’s part, but it could have been a trick of the dying light, “heritage and association don’t matter to the Grail. It has its own calculations.”

“Only if you’re from a second-rate family,” Arjuna blurted out with a wry smile, but it—and the words—quickly died away as soon as he expressed it. Karna had stubbed his cigarette and picked up his wine glass, swirling the burgundy liquid inside of it. He had never looked so insulted, nor dangerous.

“Careful, doctor,” the other man warned. “If you continue to underestimate me, I promise you I will be a more formidable opponent than even in your wildest dreams. And besides, _your_ family is only a split off, distant branch of the Matou family.”

In my wildest dreams I killed you, Arjuna thought, I spilt your blood. But he held his tongue. “And yours are born from the unholy, generally seen as a disgrace, agreement between the Tohsakas and the Einzberns. What does that make you, Karna?”

“I will not sit here and be insulted,” Karna said, standing up, bristling. Arjuna’s lips curled up into a challenging, insulting smile—although a part of him was disappointed with how he acted that night, he quickly banished the thought—and he raised up his glass in a mockery of the other. “I thought you were different. But I suppose I was wrong.”

“Well, cheers to that union,” Arjuna said, mirthlessly, gulping his wine. Karna was gathering his things, the anger hadn’t left his pale face yet, getting ready to leave. “But let me guess, I was the same as everyone else? Ah, sad, so sad that you were wrong. But we were all often wrong about people, professor. That is why I preferred history and magic than people.”

Karna stopped for a moment and, Arjuna imagined, he could see a pang of hurt crossed his face. But it didn’t last long. Karna somehow got his temper under control, and merely shrugged. “That is why you were alone, doctor. I have paid the bill.”

Arjuna didn’t know if it was the wine talking, or it was some desperate attempt to fix the situation, seeing as the other man was leaving. He chalked it up to _curiosity_. For the first time, he managed to get under Karna’s skin, and, cruel as it was, he wanted to see more of his temper, for it lights up his face like no sun ever was. “Then cheers to that, as well. How about one last drink?” he said, smiling, filling his own glass before raising the glass in Karna’s direction. He thought that he saw the doubt flitting through Karna’s expression, the _yearning_ , but, as with all beautiful, enigmatic things in the world, it didn’t last long. 

“I have to refuse,” Karna said, curtly. He looked directly at Arjuna, and Arjuna felt a pang of hurt in his own heart. “Goodbye.”

And he left. Arjuna downed the last of the wine, watching as the sun abides to death in the sky, to rise for another day. 

If they were rivals—if he murdered Karna in a past life, if they hated each other, if they were fated—then why did he felt _this_ way? As he gulped the last of the wine and left, he thought of Karna’s words— _I thought you were different_. 

Well, that scarcely mattered now. They were rivals more than ever, especially if Karna had found some relic of his own, and tonight seals it. If they were to meet as Masters in the next Holy Grail War—and the thought galvanises Arjuna, despite what he said to the other man—then he would want to be ready.

Karna’s words mean nothing.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, all the kudos & comments really do spur me forward :D as always, comments & suggestions are welcome! From this point onwards I aimed to update weekly, during the weekend, ish, so if I haven't updated, feel free to give me a kick at Twitter: @raginghel. Don't be shy <3


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